


The Littlest UNCLE Agent Affair

by Mrs_Spooky



Series: Littlest UNCLE Agent Affair [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Gen, Parenthood, They're after Illya again, Toddlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Spooky/pseuds/Mrs_Spooky
Summary: Napoleon rescues Illya who THRUSH turned into a toddler. Now THRUSH will stop at nothing to get him back.





	1. Everything is so strange

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fanart that was posted here that I can no longer find of an adult Napoleon holding a baby Illya.

Napoleon ducked behind the computer console under a hail of bullets, shielding the woman he and his partner had rescued from her prison cell in THRUSH’s satrap in Kentucky. He looked across the expansive room to find his partner, Illya Kuryakin, similarly pinned behind a tall reel to reel tape machine. The air was filled with the choking smell of burnt powder and the “ping” of bullets off the computer equipment that shielded him and his charge. He caught his partner’s eyes and they exchanged a look. Illya motioned for Napoleon to get the woman out of there. He would cover them. 

It had to be done, Napoleon realized. Their mission was to destroy the satrap THRUSH embedded in a hill in rural Kentucky and they were just about finished when they found the traumatized young woman wearing too large clothes in a holding cell. They released her and hurried her through the building and were nearly out of there before explosions from the bombs Illya had strategically placed throughout the place began to blow. They had only minutes before the rest of the place went off so they had to act quickly. 

Reluctantly, he nodded. They had earlier made arrangements to meet up at their hotel room should they get separated once the mission was completed. Satisfied that Napoleon understood, Illya pulled a smoke bomb out of the heel of his shoe and lobbed it towards the THRUSH guards. Illya took advantage of the concussion and the resulting smoke cover to bolt from his hiding place and spray the guards with rounds from the rifle he had appropriated from one of the guards he had disabled. 

With THRUSH pinned down, Napoleon grabbed the woman and hurried her towards the exit, then down a short corridor and steps up to the outside, where they could put some serious distance between the doomed satrap and themselves.

Illya was backing towards the exit, keeping up his own fusillade of bullets, keeping THRUSH heads down. Napoleon took a moment to glance back, satisfied that his friend was coming, and ran.  They had just cleared the perimeter of the clearing around the hill when the WHOMP of the final satrap demolition charge nearly knocked them over.  The terrified woman was holding up her oversized trousers but managed to keep up with him with a minimum of dragging.

Napoleon found the car where they had left it and it was then that he realized Illya had the keys. _Damn!_ He pulled the woman through the woods, watching out for THRUSH guards. It was a hot, sticky late summer Kentucky afternoon and the mosquitoes feasted on the UNCLE agent and his charge as they trekked through the trees, Napoleon angling them on a course parallel with a major roadway so he could see the vehicles driving past. Illya would be driving that road to Pikeville where they had their hotel room, and Napoleon hoped they could hitch a ride back with him.  He pulled out his communicator pen and activated it. 

“Open channel D. Channel D, come in, Illya. Where are you?” There was no answer. He made a few more attempts to call then deactivated it, frowning.

“Thank you! THANK you!” the woman was saying. She held tightly to Napoleon’s arm, threatening to cut off his circulation. She was tiring, so Napoleon led her to a tree stump near the road where she could sit while he could watch for the green Chevy that Illya would be driving. 

“I thought I was dead, thank you for saving me! Who ARE you guys?”

Catching his breath he wiped sweat from his brow, “My name is Napoleon Solo,” he explained. “My friend is Illya Kuryakin and we’re from the U.N.C.L.E. Sort of a law enforcement agency. Those were some bad hombres back there and we’re glad we could help.” He eyed the pretty brunette appreciatively, “I’m sorry, in all the ah, excitement, I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m sorry, I’m Miriam. Miriam Clay. Pleased to meet you… Napoleon?”

Napoleon chuckled. “Yes, not a lot of people are walking around with this name.” He was scanning the roadway, watching for their rental with his friend at the wheel.

“Was that your… vehicle back there?” Miriam asked. 

“Yes. Yes it was. Illya has the keys, I’m waiting for him to drive by so he can give us a lift. We’re ten miles out of Pikeville and I don’t feel like walking the whole thing.”

“I hope he was able to get out of there,” she added, rising, pulling up the slacks that were too big for her. She eyed the very attractive black-clad man she was with. “What even brought you here? How did you know I was there? Everything is so strange.”

“We didn’t,” Napoleon answered, checking his watch. It had been more than two hours and Illya hadn’t driven by. He hoped he was back at the hotel waiting. “We were there to destroy that  satrap, and we found you while planting the explosives. How did you get there?”

Miriam shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t remember. I-I went to bed one night then woke up in I think it was the back of some big vehicle that didn’t have windows. Some men took me here.”

“We must have missed Illya,” Napoleon responded, scanning the road. “Looks like we’re going to have to try to hitch a ride.”

Ditching his shoulder holster and shoving his gun into his belt, covering it with his t-shirt, Napoleon ushered Miriam to the side of the road and they began the walk towards Pikeville, turning occasionally to hold out thumbs to passing vehicles that whizzed by them. Miriam started telling Napoleon about her two young children and her husband who had been killed in the war when the kids were just babies and about her struggles as a single mother and how did she get there? She wasn’t used to walking in her sleep.

Making noncommittal responses, hoping to keep her talking, Napoleon continued to hold his thumb hopefully as the traffic heading into town increased. Talking about her children seemed to calm her, which was a good thing, even if his ears were starting to bleed. She just wanted to get home to her babies, they needed their mother. He just wanted to catch up with Illya.

Finally, a Pike County utility truck pulled over and offered them a ride into town. Napoleon and Miriam accepted gratefully, Napoleon explaining their car had broken down on a side road and he was meeting up with an out of town visitor staying at the hotel on High Street. Their visitors had a car and would help them get to a service station to have the car towed back into town. 

Napoleon was starting to worry about what THRUSH had done to the young woman, who after calming down was growing increasingly confused and insisting ever more urgently that she needed to find her children. “Something’s wrong,” she kept saying. Napoleon squeezed her hand, assuring her everything was all right now and she’d soon be reunited with her children. 

The county driver, who had been watching them oddly, dropped them off at the hotel and drove off, shaking his head. Napoleon hurried her in and led to the room he shared with Illya. He opened the door, “Illya?” No answer. The room was just as they had left it in the morning. Seriously worried now, Napoleon checked the bathroom and found it empty. Illya’s suitcase showed his clothes were still there, so he didn’t come back to change and go out looking for him.

“Open channel D. Channel D, come in Twinkletoes!” Dead silence. He twisted a setting on his communicator.  Then, “Open channel D, please.” 

The answer was immediate, “Mister Solo, ah good. Report.”

“Ah yes sir. We destroyed the satrap and rescued a young woman they were holding, a Miriam Clay. Illya and I got separated and now I can’t get a hold of him. I’m going to have to look for him.”

“A young woman you say? Find out what she was doing there, then come back to New York, you’re needed for another mission I have for you.”

“But sir…” Napoleon began.

“Mister Solo, Mister Kuryakin is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You can wait there for him until tomorrow, then you must return. Keep us informed. Waverly out.”

Frustrated, Napoleon snapped his pen communicator closed. He felt in his bones that Illya was in trouble and he had to find him. _They can fire me_ , he thought. I _’m not leaving him behind_.

He looked towards Miriam, who had backed herself into the corner, looking wildly about her. Suddenly concerned, he moved to her only to find her shying away from him.

“What IS this place? What WAS that thing? Everything is just wrong, please, I need to find my children, I need to get HOME!” 

“Listen, listen, LISTEN to me!” Napoleon hissed. “You’re safe, everything is ok, here sit down,” He pushed her gently into the chair. “Tell me about when those men brought you to that place. Tell me more about yourself. Can you do that?”

Miriam tried to pull herself together with some little success, “Well,” she sniffed, “my name is Miriam Clay, as I told you. My husband William died in the war when our first born Johnny was a year old. I was carrying his little sister Mary. We live in Charleston, West Virginia.” She shrugged, wringing her hands, staring at the television. 

“And you don’t remember how you got into the back of that vehicle?”

“Ummm….” She wiped tears from her eyes. Napoleon pulled a couple of tissues from the box on the night stand and gave them to her so she could blow her nose. “I have a vague memory, maybe I was in a doctor’s office, more like a hospital, but it wasn’t a hospital,” she corrected. “They… they… I’m trying to remember… they, I don’t know. I thought it was a dream. It MIGHT have been a dream, I don’t know. Next thing I know, they were walking me to that conveyance and they took me to that other place where you found me.”

“So they have TWO locations,” Napoleon nodded. Miriam shrugged helplessly.

Napoleon told her to sleep and promised he would take her back to Charleston as soon as she woke up.

With his companion asleep, Napoleon reported to Waverly that THRUSH had a second location, possibly in Charleston, West Virginia, so their mission was not yet complete. Waverly ordered him to check it out, which Napoleon readily agreed to. He needed to find out what happened to Illya and hoped whatever it was that happened, he could find him in time.

While Miriam slept, Napoleon left her a note telling her to stay there, he had business he had to attend to and would be back shortly. 

On his way back to the ruined satrap, he called in to Research and asked them to run a background on a Miriam Clay from Charleston, West Virginia. Roughly twenty-five years old, husband William, son John and a younger sister Mary. He told them they may have to talk to whoever was taking care of her children to gather her activities just before she disappeared. 

He disconnected then reached the location of the satrap he and Illya had destroyed. The car was still there. He searched the area up to the entrance of the ruined satrap in the hill. THRUSH had apparently cut and run but might be coming back for anything that could be salvaged. Gun drawn, he called out for Illya and searched the area between the exit and the computer room where they had their final shootout. The rest of the facility was impassable. On his way out, he noticed a coagulating pool of blood on the floor near the entrance, but no body. There were bodies in the lab from the THRUSHies who were caught in the blast, but no sign of Illya. Full of dread, he headed back to his car and drove the 15 minutes back to the hotel.

The communicator went off with its two tone signal as Napoleon was parking his car at the hotel. It was Research with the information he requested about Miriam.

“Napoleon, we found your Miriam Clay. The only possibility is Miriam Alice Clay, born April 15, 1899. Husband William Jefferson Clay was killed in the Battle of Verdun in 1916 during the first World War. Her small children are in their forties and still living in Charleston, West Virginia. Their mother was reported missing two weeks ago after she left for a job interview at a Mallard Medical Supply on the south side of Charleston. The police called the company, but they had no record of her reaching her destination. They said she never made it to the interview.” She provided the address to this Mallard Medical Supply company. 

“She’s sixty-seven?? Thank you, Solo out.” He sat for a moment then opened channel D to report to Waverly everything he had learned about Miriam. He told him that he believed maybe she DID make it to her interview. He had to check it out. He mentioned that she acted very confused and he had no idea what THRUSH had done to her. Waverly informed him that he would have people waiting for them at a hotel in Charleston and to take her there.

 

***

 

Miriam said little on the drive to Charleston. She just watched Napoleon, her expression unreadable. When they reached the city, they headed directly for the hotel Waverly directed him to. 

The UNCLE personnel were waiting for them in the lobby. There were two women from Medical, Carol and Diane, and two agents who introduced themselves to Miriam as Bobby and David. Carol and Diane greeted Miriam warmly. 

“Hi Miriam, I’m Carol and this is Diane. You’re going to stay with us for a short while. Don’t worry, your children are fine, we’ll explain everything.”

Reluctantly, Miriam went with them, protesting that she needed to get home to her children. Diane assured her that they were being cared for. Telling Miriam he would catch up with her, Napoleon turned to Bob and informed him that he had the location of the second satrap and that they probably had Illya. 

“Good. We have two more up in the room waiting for us. We’re going to take that place out and hopefully find Illya there.”

Up in the second floor room that was rented, Napoleon was pleased to see they had armaments and equipment suitable for demolishing three medium-sized buildings.

The agents decided that it was best to wait until after midnight when the building was mostly unoccupied. Tim and Tony, who were waiting in the room, were dispatched to stake out the building.

“When’s the last time you slept?” David asked Napoleon.

“I don’t remember,” he answered, “and I don’t care. I’ll sleep once we’ve found Illya.”

“Just lie down and rest then. We have a plan. Nothing more to do now but wait,” advised Bob. 

Napoleon checked his watch, itching to get started. He wanted Illya out of that place right now and just prayed that if he was not there, that he was safe, otherwise he’d have to go searching again and Waverly likely wouldn’t allow it. It was only five PM and he hated to wait. He used the bathroom and noted his disheveled appearance as he was washing up. Not caring, he exited and was firmly guided to one of the beds where he threw himself down and flung his arm over his eyes, declaring he was just going to rest for a few minutes.

A moment later, Bobby was shaking him. “C’mon, it’s eleven PM, time to go.” 

He leapt to his feet feeling energized. They loaded themselves with weapons, David carrying the sack full of explosives, as the black clad men left the room. Napoleon stopped briefly to check in with Carol and Diane to see how Miriam was doing. Miriam was sleeping and doing well. She was coming back to New York with them in the morning for evaluation. The Charleston police and her family had been notified only that she was found and safe and in the custody of UNCLE. Nodding, he rejoined the duo he was with and they piled in the car and headed off to Mallard Medical Supply.

 

***

 

Tim and Tony met up with them outside, reporting that there had been a mass exodus from the building at five thirty but there were still people in there, and definitely guards. Research back in headquarters determined that there were alarm systems inside but that UNCLE would be alerting Law Enforcement to the operations once the alarms were triggered if they couldn’t disable them all.

It looked like an office building of sorts, a very large, nondescript one at that. Four stories tall, brick, with the rows of regularly spaced windows with half drawn blinds you’d expect to see. Napoleon could see the outline of plants on window sills, backs of photo frames, and the occasional stuffed animal in more than a few of them. He took a deep breath and nodded. _I’m coming, Illya!_ He thought to himself, fervently hoping his partner was all right.

“Remember, nothing gets blown until we find Illya,” Napoleon reminded them before they split up to enter the building.

“IF he’s in there,” added Tony.

“He’s in there, I can feel it,” Napoleon responded firmly. The others glanced at each other then headed to their respective destinations. Everyone at UNCLE knew how close those two were and knew they would do everything they could to get him out of there safely, if he was indeed there at all.

Napoleon bypassed the alarm on the side entrance, the door was forced open and they entered.  No guards were seen, so they moved towards the center of the building, searching through the rooms looking for something that could be used as a holding cell. The office doors had windows, so a quick glance could tell them if any of them was occupied. They found some labs,  but all unoccupied. Tony slipped in and planted the explosives with a timer that was set to go off in a half hour. The men moved quickly, searching the floors and finding nothing of interest, strategically placing explosives through the building to cause maximum damage, but it was worrying that they did not even see a security guard. Napoleon found himself hoping that Research was right and this was indeed the place where Miriam was initially caught. His doubts grew as nothing was found beyond that lab on the second floor.

“All that’s left is the basement,” he declared finally. It was after hours, but the elevators hadn’t been deactivated. He entered one and looked at the panel. “There are two sub basements,” he informed the others, who had all met up on the second floor. “Come on.”

There were three elevators so the team split up, Napoleon with Bob and Tony in one, David and Tim in another. Napoleon and his companions were going to search the lowest level, while the others were headed to the upper sub basement.

The doors opened and the three men burst out, guns drawn. A shout from a guard was met with their silenced weapons as the men spread out. There were not only labs, but what looked like a medical facility. His heart was in his throat as he cautiously entered the “clinic.” Two more guards and what looked like a nurse jumped up, all three bringing their weapons to bear. The UNCLE agents ducked. Tony’s shoulder  was nicked by one of the guards’ bullets. Napoleon returned fire then ducked through a doorway into a longish dark room, lined on either side by what looked like jail cells. JACKPOT!

Moving quickly, he passed one that had a child sleeping in it. The rest of them were empty. He returned to the cell with the child and blew the lock. The sound startled and woke the occupant lying on a cot in the cell who started crying. Napoleon moved closer and gently turned the child over. It was a very slender little boy, no more than a toddler, with longish blond hair, a towhead. He looked to be underweight. At least his exposed arm didn’t have the layer of baby fat on him that he thought one would see on a tot. The boy was wearing an adult’s black t-shirt, and there were other clothes on the cot with him, all for an adult; familiar black denim slacks, black shoes, socks, underwear. 

He gently shushed the boy as he frantically searched the pockets of the slacks and found an UNCLE ID. Name: Illya Kuryakin.

 


	2. Where's my family?

Napoleon froze, staring uncomprehendingly at the ID with his friend’s name on it in the same cell as a child who couldn’t be older than two. He shined his flashlight away from the child’s face, shedding enough light on him to get a look. 

“I-Ilya?”

The baby rubbed his eyes, “De mama? De babusya?”

Rising fury threatened to overwhelm the horror he felt as he realized what had been done to his partner. Speaking softly to him in Russian, he assured Illya that he was safe and was going to take him out of there. His foot hit something heavy. He picked it up and found an UNCLE special with the K embossed on the butt, empty of rounds. No mistake, it was Illya. He shoved the gun into his belt and picked up the baby.

“семья [Seemya]” the boy kept saying. He wanted to go home.

Cradling his partner to his chest, Napoleon ventured towards the door to the main lab and nearly collided with Tony, who had come in to find him. 

“Bombs are set, we have to go before more guards show up….”

He was interrupted by the sound of an alarm, all lights turned to red. The UNCLE agents were galvanized to leave with all dispatch. 

“Who’s this?” Tony asked.

Napoleon was momentarily unable to answer through the lump in his throat. He just shook his head. He held up his rifle with one hand as he held tightly to Illya. Illya placed his head down on Napoleon’s shoulder and appeared to fall asleep.

“A prisoner, I’ll explain later, let’s get out of here.”

“But we have to find Illya,” protested Tony as he followed Napoleon down the hall, clutching his shoulder. The elevator took them to the first floor. Verifying that they had a clean shot to the exit, they sprinted the 10 yards to the outside. Shots coming from behind them scattered them again, Tim getting a shot off with David tossing a smoke bomb down the hall, confusing the guards.

They made their escape and ran. They piled into their cars and sped off as smoke and fire billowed from the windows, courtesy of the UNCLE demolition charges they had planted.

They returned to the hotel and made their way to the room they had reserved. The wound on Tony’s arm was dealt with by Diane who had been summoned from Miriam’s side. Napoleon just stood, clutching his partner who was now little more than a baby.

“Napoleon, where’s Illya?” asked Diane with alarm. 

He just stood, trying to get his breathing under control, his right hand now caressing the baby’s hair. He gulped and just pointed to the baby. 

The others just looked at him skeptically. Napoleon gathered his strength and describe what he found in the cell, showing them the UNCLE special with the “K” that was in the cell with him. Diane made him lie the boy on one of the beds and Bobby turned on the light so they could get a look at him. Bleary blue eyes opened, then looked wildly about. In the light, there was no mistake, this was Illya Kuryakin. Baby-faced, but the resemblance to their comrade was undeniable.

Illya was babbling, and the others looked to Napoleon to translate. He was the only one there who spoke any Russian. Napoleon shook his head.

“I could only catch some of it,” he said. “Illya’s from the Ukraine, this must be Ukrainian. It’s close enough to Russian that I can understand some of it, so I might be able to communicate with him. I think some of it might just be baby gibberish.”

Diane checked the baby over, making sure he had no bruises or broken bones. “He’s so thin! The poor little thing, weren’t they feeding him?”

“This is Illya,” Napoleon insisted.

“Illya, can you understand me?” Diane asked the child gently. “My name is Diane, that man is Napoleon.” She pointed to each man in turn giving their names and was met with a blank stare from Illya. “Do you know what I am saying? Nod if you understand.”

The little boy just rolled over onto his stomach, pulling his too thin arms into the sleeves of the adult sized t-shirt that was covering him.

“I’d say that’s a ‘no’,” Bob remarked dryly.

Napoleon sat on the bed next to the child and started rubbing his back, stroking his hair and caressing him down his spine. The child turned his head and looked up at the man with the comforting touch. He sighed and closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

 

***

 

“How could this happen?” the portly middle-aged scientist screamed at the man sitting across the desk from him. “You assured me that your security could handle any eventuality. How do you explain this?”

Victor Marton sat regarding him coolly. He had grown accustomed to Doctor Steele’s outbursts, but knew this time he was right. Heads were going to roll over this breach of security for their latest project and he was determined his would not be one of them.

“I understand you are upset,” he replied, “but you’re going to have to trust me. I will get the child back. What is the status of your research materials? I do hope you didn’t keep them all at the lab.”

Steele barely controlled himself, “Of course I don’t have them all at the lab. I don’t trust you despite your assurances. I was going to test the reversal formula on the woman who died or was taken from your facility outside of Pikeville. I don’t even know if she’s alive, and now the child. He was a perfect subject to see the long term effects of my formula.”

“No. We will get them back,” Marton assured him, “but the child will be remaining with us. We will be raising him in the THRUSH way and instead of fighting us as an UNCLE agent, he will be one of our most brilliant scientists and tacticians. It was a stroke of luck that it was Kuryakin that was captured, he’s a polymath and a certified genius. He would be perfect for our purposes. I’ve even heard rumors that we tried to recruit him when he was a student at the Sorbonne, but I can’t verify that. Once we have him, he will be raised, educated, and trained by us and will be completely loyal to us. Believe me doctor, we want him back as badly as you do.”

Steele sputtered again, “Wait. The arrangement was to return these people to their former lives once the experiment was done. They’d have no memories of what happened to them, and they can resume their lives with only a loss of a few weeks. That boy isn’t yours.”

“He IS ours and we’re keeping hm,” he informed Steele, his smooth, lightly accented voice taking on a steely tone. “I know they are taking them back to their headquarters. We know how to find them there. We’ll get them back. Alive and unhurt.”

Marton rose and stretched his back, smoothing the prim mustache that adorned his lip. He straightened his suit, weary of this conversation. There was much to be done if they were going to retrieve Kuryakin. 

 

***

 

_These strangers talk funny. What are they saying? This isn’t home. Where am I? Where is grandma and mommy? Where are my brothers and grandpa? I’m scared. Where is that man who can talk to me? He’s nice. There he is! He’s smiling and he can talk to me. He feels safe I like him. Maybe he will take me home._

The man caught his eye and smiled. He placed his hand on Illya’s chest, so comforting. Illya returned the smile. He reached up and covered the man’s with his own tiny hands. He can be trusted.

 

***

 

Doctor Martin was the current head of UNCLE Medical. She was talking, “There’s no question, this is Illya Kuryakin. His fingerprints match what we have on file. Smaller, but very much the same. Same B blood type. We’re running more tests to find out if there are any traces of an unknown substance in his blood. We don’t know how this happened or if it’s even permanent. Can it be reversed? We don’t know yet.”

“And short of actually consulting with the scientist involved, we won’t know what was done to him,” Waverly chimed in. He sighed heavily. One of his top two field agents was taken out of commission and experimented upon. He didn’t know if he was interrogated and if so, what was he forced to reveal? They didn’t have him long enough for any long term interrogations, but extra security measures would have to be put into place just in case.

Waverly looked over at his chief enforcement agent and wondered if he was going to lose him as well. Solo and Kuryakin meshed perfectly which made them the perfect team. They had grown too close, almost to the point where the two disparate personalities functioned as a single organism. _If I lose one, will I also lose the other?_ he asked himself.

The baby in the hospital bed reached his little arms up to Napoleon who obliged him by picking him up and holding him tightly. He was light as a feather. They had dug up an outfit for him out of the bowels of their wardrobe department, he had no idea they had clothes for toddlers.

“How old would you say he is?” Napoleon asked the doctor.

She moved closer to Napoleon and reached out to stroke Illya’s cheek with the back of her finger, “Maybe eighteen months, judging by his bone development and presence of teeth. He can talk - Ukrainian, you said?” Napoleon affirmed. “But then Illya does have an extraordinary intellect. We’ll have to run some tests, but from appearances, he doesn’t remember a thing of his former life. We don’t know if his memories will ever return.”

 Napoleon listened soberly. Then with forced brightness, “Well, I think this little guy could use some breakfast, what do you say? Hmm? Hungry? Golodnyy?”

The little boy perked up and nodded vigorously, “Da! Golodnyy! Mama? Babusya? De?”

“He wants to now where his family is. I don’t know what to tell him,” Napoleon told his companions. “Does he have to stay here? Can I take him to the canteen for something to eat?”

Martin considered. “I think it would be all right, just don’t leave the building with him. And he DOES need to eat. He’s reasonably healthy but severely malnourished.” Napoleon assured her he wouldn’t leave and would make sure Illya ate as much good food as he could stuff him with. 

“We have to be cautious, Mister Solo. THRUSH is very likely to be wanting these people back, particularly Mister Kuryakin here. We’ve notified Mrs Clay’s children and Charleston law enforcement that their mother is safe and is being looked after, but until we can explain to her what happened to her, she can’t be allowed to speak with them.”

 “She’s sixty-seven She doesn’t look a day over twenty-five!” Napoleon said with wonder.

“And Mister Kuryakin here is thirty-three and doesn’t look a day older than eighteen months,” Waverly added.

Word of Illya’s condition had traveled like wildfire through headquarters, and a great many of the building’s occupants made sure they were in the corridor between Medical and the cafeteria, particularly the women. Napoleon was amused that all the women wanted to cuddle him, Illya just buried his face in Napoleon’s neck. 

“Aww, he’s shy,” noted one lady from the secretarial pool.

“I don’t think he’s shy,” said her companion. “If he really doesn’t have his memories since he was this age, he’s probably overwhelmed by all the strange people crowding around him, we should let them be.”

Napoleon thanked them and carried Illya the rest of the way to the cafeteria, his feminine entourage regretfully drifting away. “You’re quite a hit with the girls, aren’t ya?” Napoleon told him brightly as Illya turned his wide-eyed attention to the food on the tables. Frank was working the counter. “Hey Frank, what do you recommend for a little boy? I don’t think I’ve ever had to feed a kid this young.”

Frank had just started his shift and hadn’t gotten the news yet about Illya. “Napoleon! Where did you find this little guy…?” his eyes widening when Illya turned and he spied the number 2 on the badge he was wearing. “… And why is he wearing Illya’s badge?”

“It’s a long story, and he needs to eat. What do you have for him that’s hot?”

Frank rubbed his chin. “Scrambled eggs, I guess. He has teeth, right? He might like bacon, maybe a sausage? You’ll want to cut the sausage up for him though.” 

Napoleon followed his advice and ordered two breakfasts with toast, coffee for himself and milk for Illya. He found a table in the corner and took a seat, Illya on his lap. To his dismay, he found his partner too small to sit in a chair by himself to eat his breakfast, he’d have to stand. He was still small sitting in his lap. _Looks like I’m going to have to feed him, unless they have high chairs here._ The waitress arrived quickly to deliver Napoleon’s coffee and a plastic cup with milk for Illya. She also provided a straw in case he had difficulties with the cup. That was a wise move Napoleon found, as Illya didn’t quite have the coordination to maneuver the cup without spilling it. After wiping the spilled milk from his trousers, he plunked the straw into the cup and helped Illya hold it while he drank. 

“We DO have a high chair,” the waitress had returned with a high seat with a removable tray in the front. It was sized to put Illya at a level where he would be able to eat from the table without having to stay in Napoleon’s lap. 

“THANK you, darling!” Napoleon accepted the chair gratefully and placed Illya in it. The waitress pushed it closer to the table so Illya would reach his food when it arrived. They didn’t have to wait long, the plates were soon deposited on the table in front of its occupants, Illya staring at the contents of his plate. He looked up at Napoleon. “Yestme. Eat!” he told his friend. The child reached out a tentative hand then snatched a fistful of egg and quickly loaded it into his face. He swiftly finished off his own eggs, toast and the sausage Napoleon cut up for him then reached over to get to work on Napoleon’s plate.

“You should be used to that,” came the chuckle from behind him. Napoleon turned to see Mark Slate and April Dancer standing there, grinning at them. 

“You and me both, you’ve eaten with him too, Mark,” Napoleon smiled. He invited them to sit and they happily took their seats.

Napoleon filled them in on what the doctor had told him, the three adults careful to watch their tone and facial expressions around the very observant little boy. “He keeps asking for his family.”

Illya was babbling, pointing to the plates then to his mouth. By now, now, he had cleaned his own plate as well as Napoleon’s.

“Some things don’t change,” Mark remarked.

“No they don’t,” cooed April, brushing the blond hair out of the boy’s eyes. “He was adorable before and he’s even more adorable now.”

The two men looked at each other, Napoleon making a face which drew a laugh from Mark. “Adorable is a matter of taste,” he retorted.

“Clearly he’s not done eating yet,” observed Mark. “Maybe get him some ice cream for being **such a good boy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you**?” Mark had also fallen under Illya’s childish spell. 

“He needs cookies,” decided April, making silly faces at Illya. 

Mark raised his hand to get Frank’s attention, “Cookies and ice cream for the young gentleman. On me.”

“And lots of napkins!” added April.

Illya decided he would rather eat the ice cream by scooping it up with the cookie and eating them together. Napoleon and Mark found themselves laughing at the sticky mess Illya was making, April gamely wielding the napkins trying to keep up with him. 

Mark pulled out his communicator, “Olga, do you speak Ukrainian? You do? Could you meet us in the cafeteria?” He winked at April and Napoleon, “We have someone here we’d like you to talk to.”

“Olga?” Napoleon asked. “They hate each other.”

“She won’t refuse a child,” Mark winked.

Olga arrived as Illya was finishing his ice cream and showed signs of slowing down. Mark pulled another chair up to the table so she could sit between April and Illya, he knew better than to try to put her between Illya and Napoleon.

“Who is this?” she asked smiling at the child as she seated herself. Then she spied his badge. “Oh. OH! What in God’s name happened?”

They briefly filled her in. “Long story short, Illya is eighteen months old, roughly, and he speaks Ukrainian. I don’t know how much Russian he understands, and I don’t speak any Ukrainian,” Napoleon told her.

Olga turned her attention to Illya and spoke briefly. Illya responded with a string of babble, Olga nodding with mmhmmm. mmhmmm. 

“What’s he saying?” asked Napoleon.

“Well, he says strange place good food and he wants to bring some home for his family. They’re very hungry,” she told them. “The rest of it is just babble.”

Smiles faded. “He was born during a famine,” Napoleon explained. “There wasn’t any food, and even growing up, food was scarce in the Soviet Union, particularly in Ukraine.” He reached out and stroked the boy’s hair sorrowfully.

After a moment or two of silence, Mark asked, “Can you ask him if he knows any of us? We want to know if he remembers anything at all.”

Olga repeated the request, taking one of the napkins and dabbing Illya’s little chin as she spoke. Illya babbled some more, gesturing to Napoleon. She nodded. “No, he doesn’t know any of you. He said Napoleon is nice.” She smiled. “It looks like he likes you very much. He likes April and Mark too, but he wants to stay with Napoleon. But he still wants his family. He’s awfully advanced for an eighteen month old.”

Napoleon beamed with pride. He knew. “He is highly intelligent, I’ve heard him called a genius, which I don’t dispute. Even at such a young age too….”

Olga rose, excusing herself so she could go back to work. “Ukrainian is very close to Russian as you know,” she pointed out to Napoleon. “If you speak Russian you can probably mostly understand each other, but I will teach you some Ukrainian.” She took one final look at Illya, “He’s such a precious child. Too bad he has to grow up,” and with that she strode off. 


	3. He's getting into everything

Victor Marton exited his plane at LaGuardia Airport and was met by the THRUSH operative he asked for. He nodded approvingly at the very comely young blonde who was sent. She would do nicely.

“Welcome back to New York, Mister Marton,” she said smiling. _Candy, that’s her name_ , he remembered. He was amazed at the fact that she was a highly trained, extremely competent operative with a name like Candy.

“Hello Candy. I’m hearing very good things about the work you’ve been doing. I have a very special job for you.”

“I can’t wait to hear it!” 

She led him to the carousel to collect his luggage and escorted him to his hotel on Fifth Avenue. She settled herself seductively on the bed as he set down his luggage. “So what do you need me to do?” she asked.

Marton straightened up and faced her. “I need you to snatch a child, roughly eighteen months old. Bring as much backup as you think you’ll need. I recommend three, maybe four lovely young ladies such as yourself. The child will most likely be in the company of Napoleon Solo.”

Candy’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly, “A child?”

“A very SPECIAL child, my dear, one who is vital to our interests in the coming years.” He made note of the momentary hesitation. “This isn’t a problem for you, is it?”

“Not at all,” she replied lightly. Candy was loyal to THRUSH but had never been told to move against a child before.

“Good. This child is Illya Kuryakin. One of our scientists regressed him to the age of eighteen months. It is our intention to raise him and educate him. We’ll bring him up in the THRUSH way.  He is a polymath and we do need his intellect, so you are not in fact snatching an actual child. If that makes it any easier.”

Well that was different. Of course, Candy had heard of Illya Kuryakin. He and his partner Napoleon Solo were feared by one and all in THRUSH, at least those with brains enough to be afraid of them. And she looked forward to flirting with Napoleon.

“Sweet little boy,” she purred. “I can do it. I have just the crew to help too.”

“That’s my girl,” Marton smiled. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to rest up for a bit, then I have business I need to conduct.”

He gave her the address to Del Floria’s where the agents came and went, instructing her to watch for Solo, particularly if he was with a young child. Follow him, then get the baby away from him and take him to an address near the airport where he would be taken to a secure location.

 

***

 

Doctor Steele, back in his home office, poured over his notes. He wanted his subjects back so he could observe them. He wasn’t used to human experimentation, particularly when his subjects are removed from his possession before he was done with them. He needed to observe the long term effects of his serum and he couldn’t do that without them in his presence. He had Miriam Clay the longest and he found some disturbing irregularities in her cellular activity as time went on, but he didn’t yet know what it meant. Would she return her to normal after a time? Will she get her memories back? Or die? He didn’t know.

He was particularly concerned about the child. With a shudder, he remembered the condition of the young man that was brought in. He was still alive, but wouldn’t be for much longer. He had regressed him as ordered, much farther than his work was intended for. His quest to find a fountain of youth wasn’t working out the way he had planned. He had to get those people back for observation and support, in case the results turned out to be life-threatening. He might have a chance to save the lives he had affected. 

The subjects were not supposed to lose the accumulated memories of the time taken from their bodies by the serum, so it needed more work. Marton didn’t seem to be at all concerned about that, in fact, he asked him to aerosolize the serum as it was, also disturbing. They provided him with the facilities and funding, but he had a growing suspicion that their motives weren’t entirely altruistic. 

 

***

 

Waverly truculently disconnected the communication from Medical. The staff there were finding it increasingly difficult to control Kuryakin. After a week, the child was growing more and more restless by the day. He had picked up some English words, but kept babbling in Ukrainian about wanting his family, they were hungry. He wanted his family, he wanted to bring them food. He didn’t think a child of his age would be that aware of or would even understand what was going on around him. Then he realized, this was Kuryakin. Who knew how early in his development he exhibited his intellectual abilities? 

It wasn’t good for a young child to be cooped up indoors anyway. Solo wanted to take him home with him, get him outside in the fresh air, sunshine and growing things. He didn’t want to let Kuryakin out of headquarters out of concern that THRUSH would be looking for him. He knew that if they got their hands on him, they would raise them for THRUSH, then they might find themselves dealing with a THRUSH version of Illya Kuryakin and he couldn’t risk that. Plus, he was fond of the young man and didn’t want him to have to grow up with the THRUSH mindset.

Reluctantly, he summoned Solo to his office.

 

***

 

Napoleon was elated. He wanted to get Illya out of the stuffy, monochromatic grey headquarters, arguing that it was no place for a child. He’d bring him in to headquarters with him every day. On his days off, he’d take the boy to the park where he could run and play.

He took a few hours off to head to FAO Schwarz on Fifth Avenue to pick up some toys for his friend. He wasn’t prepared for the array of playthings available for children. He stood agape at the selection. Then he found to his relief that it was separated into age groups. He wandered over to the one to two year old section looking for something he thought Illya would like.

A pretty young employee spied him staring helplessly at the array. She decided this gorgeous, well dressed man needed help, and approached him, hoping he was shopping for a niece, nephew or friend’s child.

“Hi, you look a little lost,” she chirped.

“Well, I guess I am a bit, aaah, I need something for an eighteen month old maybe two year old boy.”

“Oh, I can help you with that,” she said with every bit of perky she could muster. The man’s voice was as pleasant as his appearance. “What sort of things does he like? What sort of toys does he have now that he likes to play with?”

Napoleon squirmed inwardly. How can he tell this girl that this particular child doesn’t have any toys? “Well, he seems to like figuring things out. Yeah, puzzles or something he has to work through.”

The girl’s smiled faltered. “That might be a bit advanced for an eighteen month old. How about these blocks? We have a wide selection of jack in the boxes that are fun for toddlers. We have toy cars, Doozies, Mister Potato Head, Lincoln Logs, Lego, erector sets…”

Napoleon considered. Illya liked building things, and the Lego set looked like there was a lot he could do with it if he had enough of them. He just worried about stepping on one of the blocks in his bare feet. Then he remembered that Illya was much more enamored of blowing things up than building them, but building is good for now.

“This boy is pretty advanced. He’s far outstripped normal verbal development, and I wanted to give him something that will challenge him. And the Legos.”  Napoleon picked up a couple of boxes of Legos, thinking he’ll have to remember to keep at least slippers on in the apartment. He moved on to the two to five year old toys, scanning the shelves. The store clerk left him briefly and returned with a basket into which Napoleon gratefully dropped the toys he had selected so far.

 “Children like brightly colored things,” she advised, now seriously concerned about this well dressed, pleasant customer. “What does this little boy play with now? Maybe more like them?”

 _He likes demolition and inflicting injury. And food_ , Napoleon thought, idly imagining the girl’s reaction if he shared that information. “His parents don’t have a lot of money for toys. All he has are picture books, but he needs intellectual stimulation when he plays,” Napoleon offered instead.

The girl heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s very nice of you, helping them with their child.” The customer treated her to a dazzling smile.

His basket nearly full, he declared that this was a good start. He could have other ideas going forward and said he looked forward for more of her assistance. 

As they were moving towards the register, he stopped at a display of stuffed animals. He scanned the array of stuffed bears and bunnies in a rainbow of colors. _Kids like brightly colored things, eh?_ He selected the purple bear. He picked it up, squished it’s firmly packed body between his fingers and held its soft plushiness up to his cheek. Yes, this will do nicely.

Happily, he brought his purchases back to his apartment and stacked them up on the coffee table for Illya, the bear sitting on top.  He hoped Illya liked the toys. Whatever he didn’t play with he could donate to charity, but he wanted his friend to be happy. He started wondering about fatherhood and if this what it’s like to be a dad. You want everything for your child and would to anything in your power to get it for them. He had to remind himself that Illya was his dearest friend and his partner, not his child. _I don’t know what the future is going to bring him, but dammit, if he’s with me, he’s going to be happy!_

After stocking up with food and ice cream and cookies, he headed back to work to collect Illya.

Napoleon bounced back to Del Floria’s, not noticing the young woman walking by, watching him from across the street. He greeted the tailor as he prepared to enter the inner sanctum of headquarters through the fitting room.  He headed straight away to Medical to pick up his partner.

He wasn’t prepared for the scene that awaited him when he entered. An exasperated nurse informed him that the boy was getting into everything. They had to watch him every second because his explorations were getting increasingly intrusive and potentially dangerous. The shrieks he heard coming from the examination room told him that Illya was NOT happy. He hurried in to see another nurse trying to take the blood pressure of an eighteen month old who was not having it.

“Are you SURE he’s not two?” groused the nurse to Doctor Martin who had rushed in to see what the fuss was about.

“He could be. Eighteen months was an estimate.” She shook her head, “Terrible Two - either he’s two years old or he’s progressed.”

“Well I’m here to take him off your hands,” Napoleon assured them. He scooped up his young partner and bounced him, making soothing noises. Napoleon could only catch some of what Illya was saying. He wanted to play and there was nothing to do, and where’s his family? He also thought Illya was saying he was hungry, but wasn’t sure. It would certainly be in character.

Napoleon continued to bounce him and speak soothingly in what he hoped was passable Ukrainian until was able to calm him down. With Olga’s help, he was able to pick up some of the differences between Ukrainian and Russian and hoped it would be enough to communicate with him. He also had to teach him English. 

Napoleon held him tightly and gazed into his impossibly blue eyes, trying to communicate in broken Ukrainian. The bright blue eyes were melting him and he found himself adoring this child. He desperately wanted his partner back, but found himself to be totally in love with this toddler who was his friend, even if his friend didn’t remember him or anything they’d been through together. He smiled broadly at the boy, tugging at the back of his shirt, straightening out his clothes. Illya watched his face in affectionate curiosity. He smiled broadly and wrapped his little arms around Napoleon’s neck and settled his head onto his shoulder.

“How’s Miriam doing?” he asked. He was ashamed that he hadn’t thought about her since he got back to headquarters.

“She’s depressed,” reported Doctor Martin. “We’ve explained to her what happened to her and let her know her children know she’s safe, but she’s not handling it at all well I’m afraid. We’re going to have to watch her. She’s showing some cellular abnormalities that we can’t explain and we don’t know what it means. We’re going to have to watch Illya to see if he exhibits the same, so you do need to bring him back.”

Napoleon’s arms tightened around Illya. “I’m heading to Mister Waverly’s office, then I’m taking him home. I’ll bring him back in the morning with some toys, is that ok?” 

“Fine! Please!” they were happy to hand him off to Napoleon who seemed to be able to better handle the child than they could.

The office door slid open to admit Napoleon and Illya. Waverly looked up from the reports he was reading and peered at them. Napoleon was looking far too happy, he thought, considering the man’s partner and dearest friend was now a toddler.

“Mister Solo. Good. I was hoping you’d stop in before you left. I understand Mister Kuryakin is giving the staff in Medical a bit of a rough time.”

“Yes, yes he is, but I’ll take him off their hands for a few hours and will bring him back in the morning,” Napoleon told him, seating Illya on the edge of the circular table and parking himself in a chair in front of him, holding his partner steady, making faces. Baby Illya laughed.

Disturbed, Waverly said “Mister Solo, need I remind you that this child is not the man you knew.”

“Excuse me?” Napoleon stopped with the faces and looked to his boss who was watching him closely.

Waverly rose and walked over to his chief enforcement agent and his number two, who was currently sitting giggling on his rotating table. 

“This Illya is not the Illya you knew. He has none of the life experiences, education or memories that made him the man you knew. He’s a blank slate. You can raise him. You could get married and provide him a home and family with plenty to eat, the best of education, none of the hardships he grew up with, and he would grow up to be a good man. He still wouldn’t be the Illya you worked with. I just want you to realize that.” He reached out and patted the child then laid a hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “Just don’t lose sight of what we have here. And what we may have lost.”

Napoleon swallowed hard and took a moment to speak over the lump rising in his throat. “I know sir. I want my partner back more than I can say. But, I love this child. He’s making me wonder if I’m missing out on fatherhood. I don’t know what to do with that, sir.”

“I understand. I know how close you two are. Sometimes I wonder if you two young men are too close, but you’re such an effective team I’m loathe to separate you. You both worry too much about each other. Concern for one’s partner is commendable, but you two bring it to a level that’s almost concerning.”

“Well, do you blame us?” Napoleon asked, almost defiantly.

“Not at all,” Waverly assured him. “As long as you are both aware that the job entails risk. For the both of you. You do need to accept this fact.” 

Napoleon nodded, “Of course.” After a moment, “We need to find the scientist who did this to him and see if he can reverse it.”

Waverly nodded. “Indeed. You are both expendable, but that doesn’t mean I can afford to lose either one of you. And I won’t if it’s at all avoidable. Take him home. Keep him safe, THRUSH might be wanting him back, you know. And be very aware of your surroundings if you take him outside, THRUSH may be lying in wait. They know he was brought back here, so stay vigilant!”

“Yes sir,” replied a subdued Napoleon.

 

***

 

 

The woman watched the man carrying a child and a satchel from the tailor shop. After watching the place for a week, there was finally a child carried out of the shop. She called in the report then followed at a safe distance. 

 


	4. Home with Napoleon

Napoleon pulled his car up to the curb in front of the apartment building he shared with Illya. The little boy stood up on the seat the whole way, taking in the sights, pointing to various buildings of interest. He couldn’t shake his adoration of this child, trying to remember the jaded, pragmatic man he knew who rarely showed excitement for anything that didn’t involve food, explosives or a scientific discovery. The boy sat down when the engine was turned off and looked at him expectantly. He was so new, so fresh. The little pain and hardship he may have had to endure in his short life so far was over. He hadn’t seen or done the things that his friend had seen and done, everything was new to him. He almost made Napoleon himself feel brand new. 

He grinned and in halting Ukrainian said “booly toot [we’re here].” Napoleon exited the car and opened Illya’s door and picked him up to carry him inside. He reached their floor and on impulse, put him down to see if he knew where to go. Illya stood, confused. He looked at the doors and scanned the hall, but… what? He looked up at Napoleon. That question answered, he picked the child up and carried him to his door and let them in then put him down again. 

The boy took a few steps and looked back at him. Napoleon smiled and nodded, encouraging him to go further. Illya walked farther into the apartment, looking around, then cleared the sofa and spotted the toys on the coffee table with the purple stuffed bear on the top. He approached in wonder, taking it all in. He pointed, “Shcho [what]?”

Napoleon grinned and loosened his tie, removed his jacket then sat himself next to Illya. He took the purple teddy bear off the top of the pile and handed it to him. To his satisfaction, Illya looked at it in wonder then clutched it tightly to his chest. Illya watched as Napoleon took down a box of the Legos and started building a wall on the coffee table. Illya picked up immediately what they were for and started building a wall of his own, just like Napoleon’s.

Napoleon showed him the toys and how they worked and Illya went right to work, busying himself particularly with the puzzles. Napoleon kissed him on the head and declared that he was going to make dinner. He hoped he said that right, but Illya was busy playing. He’d smell the food soon enough.

Dinner was going to be simple; hamburgers, french fries, cole slaw he picked up at the nearby deli. He didn’t know what Illya was going to make of it. He made a note to try to find a deli in what was starting to be called “Little Odessa” or maybe Brighton Beach where the Russian emigres were congregating. He wanted Illya to have borscht and other foods he might have been exposed to in his homeland. He wasn’t sure WHAT his friend had eaten to this point in his life because of the famine. Maybe he had never eaten borscht. He would have to ask someone. He didn’t know if he was going to wind up raising Illya or not, but if he did, he did not want his friend to grow up not knowing his heritage. He owed him that. In fact, he owed him everything. The burgers almost ready, he checked the progress of the french fries in the oven, they were not quite done. 

Illya smelled the food and wandered into the kitchen clutching his teddy bear, hoping for a taste. _Not yet, little one, but soon._

Napoleon looked down at the eager young face with the chubby cheeks and impossibly blue yes looking up at him and felt himself melting inside. Yes, he owed this child his heritage AND he did indeed owe him everything. Napoleon thought back on all the times Illya risked scuttling their mission to get him out of a jam, to save his life. The devotion Illya showed him was equal to the devotion he himself showed to Illya. Now his friend was reduced to a toddler by the enemy they both fought, the two of them, citizens of enemy states, working together as closely as two humans could. They came from such different backgrounds and had such different personalities yet they meshed so perfectly. He smiled broadly and picked up Illya and the teddy the boy just declared was named “Sasha” to show him the sizzling burgers. The boy bounced in his arm in anticipation, to Napoleon’s amusement.

He kissed Illya and set him down as he prepared the plates and set the table. Illya was happy to stand on the chair as he ate, unconcerned with the mess he was making. Napoleon wiped his chin and hands when he could get to them. Illya happily consumed every bit of his burger and fries and reached towards Napoleon’s plate. He obliged his friend by putting a fistful of of his own fries on his plate which were eagerly devoured. Napoleon’s heart swelled yet again for this little boy, remembering the man, his friend who he dearly loved and wanted back. He hoped he would get his friend back, but knew that in so doing, he would lose this child. Illya’s needs were simple - to be loved, protected, and to be intellectually challenged. And to learn. Are all children like this? Or is it just Illya? _Do I love him this much because he’s Illya? Or is this what it would be like to have my own child?_  

Once they had finished eating and table cleared, Napoleon left the dishes in the sink and sat on the floor to play with Illya. They built houses with the Legos, he watched Illya work on the puzzle games he had bought him which he had solved fairly quickly. Back to the Legos.

Napoleon ruffled Illya’s hair and headed to the kitchen to wash the dishes while Illya played. He had no experience with children this young and he had very little exposure to kids anyway except on the job. He was sure there was nothing to it. Things were going so well so far for him and baby Illya. He did miss having his partner to talk to. His friend’s acid wit was a constant challenge that he happily rose to meet on a number of occasions. The memory made him smile, but the thought that he might never see him again left him feeling lonely beyond words.

He finished rinsing the pan and proceeded to wipe the dishes to put them away. Illya was awfully quiet. He remembered overhearing one of the ladies in Communications who had small children mention that when toddlers are quiet, that’s when you had to worry. That’s when Napoleon noticed this odor that was familiar but he couldn’t place it. He dried his hands, and moved out to the living room to see what Illya was up to. 

The boy had found his liquor cabinet and retrieved the bourbon off the bottom shelf and managed to get it open. Half of the liquor was all over Illya with the rest soaking into the carpet. Even worse, Illya found the vodka and had just finished sniffing it and was tipping the bottle with difficulty, trying to take a drink. Napoleon charged out to catch him just before he could get any of it in his mouth, but the spillage splashed into Illya’s hair and added to the puddle on the carpet.

Groaning, he stripped Illya to his underwear and picked up the screaming toddler. With two fingers, Napoleon carried the sopping clothes to the bathroom and tossed them in the sink, running the water on them to get the liquor out. He could just imagine what the doctor would say if he brought Illya in smelling like bourbon. He had some difficulty trying to control his partner who was furious at the interruption of his play.

Illya’s protest petered out and his eyelids drooped. It was eight o’clock and probably time for him to go to bed. Napoleon opened the satchel filled with clothes for his friend and found pajamas, a change of clothes and… some diapers. He hesitated but decided to be safe.

He was going to have to clean up the carpet too once he’d bathed his partner. Ok, having a toddler wasn’t all playing with toys and walks in the park. _I suppose this is part of fatherhood too_. He briefly had second thoughts, but realized he just wasn’t prepared for little ones. He made a note to talk more to that lady in Communications.

Napoleon drew a bath for Illya, checking the water to make sure it was warm enough but not too hot. Illya splashed in the warm water as Napoleon washed him down, talking to him the whole time. He had run out of Ukrainian and even Russian and just talked to him in his own native English. Illya didn’t seem to notice or care, he just loved the sound of Napoleon’s voice. He dried his friend off and put his pajamas on him and held him until his blond hair was fully dry then placed him in the bed. 

“I’ll be in soon, go to sleep my darling friend. I’ll see you in the morning, tough guy. Sweet dreams.” He kissed him on the forehead and was gratified by the smile on the little face snuggling under the covers clutching Sasha tightly.

With a sigh, Napoleon straightened up then headed out to the living room to clean the liquor out of the carpet.

 


	5. Revenue stream, yes sir!

“Miss Candy. Report please.”

Candy was dreading the call. No opportunities presented themselves to grab the baby. They didn’t want to stop Napoleon’s car with an accident for fear of the child getting hurt and Napoleon hadn’t taken him to the park, just walking him on the tree lined street where they lived and there were too many people around. She informed him of the steps they were taking and were prepared to take any opportunity that arose. She also told him why certain plans of action were ruled out.

“Miss Candy, sometimes we have to make our OWN opportunities. It’s been a month, I expected to have the child in our custody by now. Figure it out. I have a plan, keep your pretty green eyes on Solo and the boy. Be ready.” And with that he disconnected.

His patience at an end, Marton picked up the phone. It was time to have a visit with an old friend.

 

***

 

The plane at LaGuardia discharched its passengers. Among them was a nondescript, portly scientist clutching a briefcase containing notes and a piece of paper with a phone number. He entered the crowded gate area, took a deep breath and strode to the carousel to collect his suitcase. 

The young man who is now a baby is an UNCLE agent, Marton said. Discrete questions of Marton’s associates revealed that UNCLE had a headquarters in New York City.

He found a phone number and hoped and prayed the people at the other end of the phone would listen, he had already waited far too long to get his subjects back.

 

***

 

Waverly was reviewing reports from the various section heads and was pleased with the progress of most of them, but Section VIII was frustrating him. It had been a month and they still had no information on how to restore Illya or even whether he COULD be restored. They had noted some irregularities in his cellular activities now too, which they found disturbing, very similar to what they were seeing with Mrs Clay, but they didn’t know what it meant or what the implications were. Whether Illya would spontaneously be restored to his normal age or if it was eventually fatal. This information was being withheld from Napoleon Solo for the time being. 

 He gazed at the child playing at his feet, toys scattered about him. Illya was learning English at a prodigious rate, in fact he was just learning rapidly. _He’ll have his PhD in quantum mechanics back by the time he’s six,_ he thought with some amusement.

Illya loved puzzles and would solve them quickly. Section III came up with some increasingly difficult puzzles to challenge him and Illya solved them almost as soon as he got them. Waverly tried some of them and was able to solve them with some difficulty, but found them to be engaging and challenging. He was considering licensing them for the consumer market. Another source of revenue wouldn’t damage their bottom line at all. Also with the money they were saving in the reduction of expenses from wrecked cars and suits with Napoleon and Illya out of the field, their accounting head was happy.

“Well young man, looks like you have solved another one,” Waverly observed, Illya proudly holding up the results of his half hour’s work then reaching for another one. “There is no keeping up with you, is there?” he smiled fondly down at him. Word had gotten back to him about some of Napoleon’s experiences with baby Illya to Waverly’s vast amusement. Even Medical was exasperated, the child got into everything and had to be watched every second. _Of course. That’s what toddlers do!_

Illya stood and reached up his arms to be picked up, Waverly obliging. He was amused when Napoleon informed him that Illya had named his stuffed bear Sasha. The boy had taken to calling Waverly “‘dyadʹko Sasha,”/Uncle Sasha which suited him just fine. Setting the boy in his lap he started spinning his chair around to shrieks of laughter from his young agent. Waverly laughed along with him.

“Having fun, sir? Should I order more games for you?”

He stopped. He hadn’t heard the door hissing open to admit Lisa Rogers. “Miss Rogers! Yes, more games for this little one are in order I do believe. And look into marketing possibilities for these puzzles. They could do quite well on the consumer market.”

“Revenue stream, yes sir.”

“Revenue stream, yes sir!” repeated Illya, over and over again in accented English, laughing. 

She walked over and handed Waverly a couple of notes she was holding. Holding Illya with one arm, he picked up one, his eyebrows raised. “Victor Marton is in town, well imagine that,” he mused. “What do you suppose he’s up to? Shush now, young man,” he said when little hands attached to the squealing child grabbed at the papers. 

“Yes sir. He wants to meet up with you. ‘Catch up on old times’ he said.”

“This should be interesting. Of course I’ll return his call.” He picked up the second note. “A Doctor Steele? He says he has information that we need about an experiment with a ‘fountain of youth’ serum.” He looked up at Lisa, “He could be the key in all this,” he said, caressing Illya’s side with the hand that was holding him. He gazed at the child and stroked his hair. He wanted his agent back, but he hated the thought of losing this extraordinary child.

“We’ve all grown attached to baby Illya,” Lisa agreed smiling, reading his expression. “If he can be restored, do you suppose he’ll ever hear the end of it?”

“Never,” declared Waverly. He kissed the baby on the cheek and set him gently on the floor. Illya proceeded to toddle around the table spinning the chairs. “Although at this stage he has the energy of a two year old, and who can keep up with him? Arrange to have Doctor Steele brought in immediately. I don’t know if Victor Marton is involved in this but I intend to find out.”

Waverly turned and opened the panel behind his seat revealing the communication panels behind it. Gently fending off Illya’s attempted exploration of the electronics, he picked up the telephone and rang up Victor Marton. The man answered almost immediately and was as smarmily charming as ever, wanting to meet for tea. Waverly agreed, they would meet the next day. His schedule wouldn’t permit him to leave before then. Marton had a place all picked out, but Waverly overruled him and selected a place several blocks away. He didn’t say as much, but Waverly didn’t want to meet Marton in a place that could be a THRUSH affiliate. Marton agreed. The meeting was set. Waverly poked a button on his console and ordered an investigation into the place Marton had selected.

 

***

 

 Steele was in custody within the hour. UNCLE’s top scientists at headquarters had gathered to talk to him, Napoleon accompanying them. 

“Ok, first of all,” Steele began, “This formula is mine. It’s not completed yet and there are problems with it, as you can see, but it’s mine. No offense, but it’s my discovery and I don’t want it diluted in any way.”

“Problems?” asked Napoleon, leaning casually against the wall, feigning nonchalance.

“Yes, definitely,” Steele replied, beginning to perspire under this UNCLE agent’s scrutiny. “This is supposed to restore youth to the aged. Obviously, if it’s going to be at all effective, the consumer needs to retain their memories from the years that were regressed from their bodies. Like I said, it needs work. Plus I don’t know what the long term effects are. I lost my subjects before I was able to observe the lasting effects on them, hopefully I can intervene if needed if trouble appears.”

“What sort of trouble?” asked Napoleon before the scientists could speak.

The UNCLE scientists glanced him, then at each other.

“We’ve been running tests on our agent that was regressed to a child and on Mrs Clay. We’re seeing…” Franklin hesitated, glancing at Napoleon. He wasn’t supposed to know, but he would have to, “… some abnormal cellular activity on both of them, more advanced in Mister Kuryakin. We are seeing mitogen activity that is off the charts in Mister Kuryakin, much higher levels than Mrs Clay’s, who is also showing the same abnormal activity. We don’t know why or what its implications are and we’re hoping you can tell us.” He went on in more detail about how an abnormally high level of cell growth was indicated but only normal growth was occurring.

The bottom dropped out of Napoleon’s heart. He struggled to control his breathing but he couldn’t control the sudden pallor in his face. He didn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but it sounded bad. Doctor Franklin looked sympathetically at the stricken chief enforcement agent. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”

Rage boiling over, Napoleon sat next to Doctor Steele and leaned in. “That’s my partner and dearest friend you experimented on,” he snarled. “We need him back. I need him back. What gives you the right to play God with people’s lives?”

Taken aback, Steele blubbered, “Now, now, now wait! I saved his life! Yes,” he looked entreatingly around at the stony faces surrounding him, now perspiring heavily, “You didn’t see the condition the young man was in when they brought him to me. I saved his LIFE! When those men caught him, they-they tortured him, it was awful. He was all shot up, his knees, elbows, his HANDS. He was bleeding to death, dying. My serum SAVED him! If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have him at all!”

Napoleon’s stomach turned when he suddenly remembered the pool of coagulating blood he found at the satrap when he went back to hunt for Illya.  He had the sickening realization that that was Illya’s blood. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Doctor Steele hoping to change the subject, “May I see the child? Let me have a look at him, please. And I’d like to see Mrs Clay. How is she doing?”

“She’s been depressed and has started showing signs of increasing agitation,” Doctor Martin responded quickly. “We’ve been letting her outside, escorted of course, but she’s having trouble adjusting. If that’s all it is. Maybe YOU can tell US!” Martin turned to Napoleon, “Napoleon, if you could, please bring Illya.”

His face set, Napoleon woodenly left the conference room. Steele shared his notes with the scientists, explaining what the drug was and how it was supposed to work. He needed their help in reversing the process, and he was not at all happy with the cellular activity they were seeing with Miriam and Illya.

Napoleon returned a few minutes later having retrieved Illya from Waverly’s office. His boss was looking ready to have someone take the precocious two year old off his hands. The scientists looked up at the child wearing Illya’s number two badge and felt their own pangs of regret.

“Illya,” Napoleon announced, taking a chair next to Doctor Steele, holding the squirmy Illya on his lap.

“Well young man, it’s good to see you again!” said Steele brightly.

“Revenue stream, yes sir!!” the boy responded loudly.

Everyone in the room blinked. 

“He’s been doing that,” Napoleon explained. “He’ll hear something that tickles his fancy then repeat it until he either gets tired of it or finds something else. It does get annoying after a while.” He tickled the little boy who giggled.

“Hi there, I’m Doctor Donald Steele. You can call me Uncle Donald.” He ignored Napoleon’s sour expression. “I’m going to have a look at you, is that ok!” 

“Revenue stream, yes sir Uncle Donald Steele!”

He chuckled and gently widened the boy’s eyes, examining them closely. He felt around the glands in Illya’s neck and under his jaw, then armpits and frowned. “How long have his glands been like this?”

Concerned, Doctor Martin moved in to have a feel for herself. She shook her head, “Very recently. He was checked for this the other day and they were normal. His white blood count is normal and he doesn’t have a fever. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. It may or may not be related to the serum but I’m going to need to see your data on the mitogen activity. With your permission, I’d like to run some tests myself.” 

“Of course. We should start immediately.” Martin pulled out her communicator and requested Miriam be brought to Medical right away.

 

***

 

Napoleon would not be permitted to observe, so he made his way to Waverly’s office. Waverly had decided to work with Napoleon to train him in running field operations from the office. He knew the man was happier in the field, but Waverly wanted to retire someday and wanted to make sure that Napoleon was able to step in seamlessly.

Waverly sat back while Napoleon selected a potential THRUSH operation in Dallas he wanted to have checked out. He selected an agent and called him to the office.

“Only one?” Waverly asked.

“It’s just reconnaissance. If there is anything to it that Rodriguez needs help with, I can send Donner. They work well together.”

“Very good.”

The work kept Napoleon busy for the day while Illya and Miriam were being tested. He checked on them periodically and was amused by reports of the tantrum Illya was throwing. He was definitely hard to handle. Napoleon decided he was glad he was in Waverly’s office.

It was around six o’clock when Napoleon and Waverly were notified Medical had completed the tests and please come and get Illya, thank you very much.

“You should head home. I imagine the doctors will want more testing tomorrow and he should get some rest.”

“Yes sir.” Napoleon rose and headed to the door, which hissed open at his approach. He stopped and turned, “By the way sir, why wasn’t I told about Illya’s cellular activity? Shouldn’t I know what’s going on with my partner?”

Of course Napoleon would find out. “We still need you, Mister Solo. We need Mister Kuryakin as well, but you are the one who is still capable of doing your job. It was my decision, don’t be hard on Doctor Martin. It’s hard enough for you to focus with Illya in such a state, I didn’t want to make matters worse.”

“I see. Goodnight sir.”


	6. What we may have lost

Napoleon entered the infirmary to collect Illya and could see why Medical was eager to get him out of there. He heard before he entered the room, 

“NO!”  

“Illya, stop that.”

“NO!”

“Illya, put that down please.”

“NO! NO! NO!”

“Ok, who told him ‘no’?” Napoleon asked with forced cheer. He bent down to Illya who had seated himself firmly and defiantly on his bottom under the examination table and refused to move.

Napoleon smiled at the child, “I have cookies,” he said, hoping to entice him.

“NO!”

“With ice cream, yum!”

“NO!”

“I think Sasha’s tired and wants to come home and eat, what do you think?” He repeated it in Russian.

The boy considered it. He got up and ran for his bear which was beginning to show considerable wear. “Sasha!”

“Yes, Sasha,” Napoleon chuckled as he picked up his friend, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“See you tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder and left quickly.

The car pulled up to the curb front of their apartment building. Napoleon walked around the front of the car to retrieve the child and his bear. He was regaling Illya with what they were going to have for dinner that night when he was approached by a group of three lovely young ladies.  They caught sight of Illya and squealed with delight.

“Oh, isn’t he the most BEAUTIFUL baby!”

“Look at those CHEEKS!”

“What’s his name? Is he yours?”

Napoleon smiled, pleased at the attention, “No, he’s… a friend…’s son. I’m babysitting him for a while. What are your names? I’m Napoleon, this is Illya.”

“Hi Napoleon, I’m Candy,” said the blonde. “This here is June and this is her sister May.”

“Ladies.” He bowed slightly. “I haven’t seen you around, are you new here?”

“Sort of,” said the lady named June. “We live a few blocks from here, just moved in a few months ago.”

They chatted briefly and Napoleon made to take his leave, wishing them a good night and hoped to see them again. 

“May I hold him?” Candy asked suddenly. “Just for a minute? I love babies.”

“NO!” shouted Illya. 

The ladies laughed, Napoleon along with them, “Now Illya, don’t be rude.”

“NYET!” The little boy’s arms tightened around Napoleon’s neck. 

“Looks like he doesn’t want to. Maybe next time, I’m sorry.”

“Awww, that’s ok,” Candy reassured him, reaching her hand up to pat Illya’s cheek. 

That’s when Napoleon noticed her ring with the oversized stone that he could see now wasn’t a stone. He reached out and batted her hand away just before it emitted its puff of vapor and stepped back hastily to keep himself and Illya out of range. It was then that he was set upon by all three women, Candy grabbing at Illya. His legs were swept out from under him and he landed hard in a two point landing on his backside and head, pummeled by the women.

“Let him go! We WILL kill you!”

He felt Illya being torn from his grasp and heard his ear-splitting shriek followed immediately by a howl of pain as sharp little teeth embedded themselves in the woman’s arm.

The struggle ended abruptly as two more joined the fray. His vision cleared and he saw one of the women, Candy running away, another unconscious on the sidewalk, the third restrained by April Dancer.  Napoleon’s arms were empty.

“Illya!” Napoleon howled in rage and grief.

“Relax, mate. He’s right here.”

Mark reached down to help pull Napoleon to his feet. 

“What took you so long?” Napoleon quipped, relieved to see them.

“We’ve been watching your apartment. You picked up a tail almost a month ago. Mister Waverly wanted you watched in case THRUSH tried to make a grab for him.” April explained. Her words were met with curses from the woman she was holding. The prone woman on the ground moaned and stirred.

April deftly cuffed May’s hands behind her back while Mark handed Illya off to Napoleon and similarly cuffed June. 

“You hit her pretty hard,” Mark remarked, smiling up at April. 

“She had it coming. Trying to grab our Illya, shame on you!” she jerked the handcuffs up, twisting May’s arms. 

Mark called for a car to come and take the women back to headquarters for interrogation as April accompanied Napoleon into the building. 

“How is the security here?” she asked.

“It’s pretty good, but might not be adequate.”

April nodded then pulled her gun and left Napoleon holding Illya to make sure there was nobody lurking in the apartment. The apartment cleared, she told him that UNCLE would keep an eye on the building and he was asked to check in periodically. “Do you want one of us to stay with you?”

“No, we’ll be all right for now. He’s going to have to start staying at headquarters, starting tomorrow.” Heavy regret was in his voice. If Illya was going to stay at headquarters, then he would have to as well.

April left the two alone. Napoleon made sure the door was double locked as well as all the windows and carried Illya into the bedroom. He set Illya down and moved to the bathroom. Illya followed. 

“Pollya.” he said. Napoleon froze before his fly was completely undone.

He knelt down and placed his hands on Illya’s arms. “What did you say?”

“POLLYA! POLLYA! POLLYA!” 

Illya was poking him as he said it.

He couldn’t have heard that anywhere. Only Illya called him “Pollya” and that was only in private. 

“Do you know what that means?” He repeated the question in Ukrainian.

“Nyet!”

Napoleon kissed him and told him to wait there. He finished his business quickly then stripped to the waist and washed up. He wanted a shower but even though he secured the liquor cabinet and other dangerous places in the apartment, he didn’t dare leave Illya out of his sight for a moment. 

Illya sat staring at Sasha as Napoleon changed into more casual wear. He brought his friend out to the kitchen so he could watch him making dinner. Napoleon chatted with him as he cooked. The previously rambunctious youngster was subdued, turning the bear over in his hands and watching Napoleon. 

“Are you tired? It’s been a busy day for you, hasn’t it?”

“Busy. Busy. Revenue stream, yes sir. Pollya”

After dinner, he played with Illya for a bit, but the boy seemed tired. It was eight o’clock, so Napoleon decided to put him down for the night. The curtains were closed in the apartment and he kept the lights low to avoid any prying eyes. Illya in his pajamas tucked snugly into bed, Napoleon kissed him and told him he’d be in soon.

Safely on his own in the living room, Napoleon poured himself a drink. This called for scotch, neat. He pulled out his communicator and opened channel D. He reported their situation after the attempt on Illya and informed Waverly that he was going to be keeping the child at headquarters from now on. 

“A wise decision, Mister Solo. You sometimes take an alternate route to the office, have you used it at all in the last month?”

“No sir,” Napoleon responded with more than a little chagrin,”Same route every day.”

“Good. Take your alternate route in the morning, our people will be watching every step of the way and you shall have an escort.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir…”

“Is there something wrong Mister Solo?”

“Well, Illya has been subdued all night. I thought he was just tired after today, but I’m not sure. I’ll have the doctor look at him when I bring him in tomorrow.”

He disconnected then turned off the light and finished his scotch in one long swallow in the dark. He closed his eyes as the warmth of the liquor spread from his esophagus down through his stomach then spread to his limbs then his face. He could feel his face reddening, his eyes watering. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes to wipe the tears, but it didn’t help, they kept coming.

The events of the past month had finally caught up with him. He lost his dearest friend, his partner, only to find him again as a child. Then he learned that his friend had been tortured nearly to death, to die alone, horribly, surrounded by enemies before that scientist got his hands on him. And now there is something going on with this little body that was disturbing to the UNCLE scientists and they didn’t know what it meant. Nothing in his friend’s short life could possibly be bad enough for him to deserve this fate. He didn’t know if Illya was going to live or die - if he was going to be able to raise him himself or if he’d have his friend back. He couldn’t have both.

Waverly’s words came back to haunt him, “ _…what we may have lost_.” If this couldn’t be reversed, he’ll never have his friend back. The Illya Kuryakin he knew and loved would be lost forever.

His chin quivered as the sobs rose up from deep in his gut, grief and rage threatening to consume him. He pressed one of the couch pillows to his face to muffle the wracking sobs that he was powerless to control. The high of having this child he adored collided with the low of the loss of his friend maybe forever and threatened to shatter his heart. Napoleon didn’t know how long he wept but it felt like hours. He was too exhausted to even go to bed, so he turned the now-sodden pillow over and laid down there on the couch and fell into a deep sleep.

He awoke suddenly while it was still dark out. He was lying on his side and was unable to raise his arm to check his watch, because of the weight that was holding it down. He looked and in the dim light he saw Illya with Sasha curled up next to him. He reached around to wrap his arms around the child and noticed his bathrobe had been clumsily half laid over his shoulders. Nobody else could have gotten into the apartment, Illya must have done that. He hugged his partner’s small body gently so as not to disturb him and drifted back off to sleep.

The sun woke him in the morning, alerting him to the ringing alarm in the bedroom. Illya was gone. Napoleon sprang to his feet in alarm.

“Illya!”

The padding of little feet met his voice as Illya emerged from the bedroom carrying Sasha and a couple of toys. He was babbling again but Napoleon couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Well, good morning, dear little guy. You gave me a nice surprise last night.” He picked Illya up and spun him around, hugging him tightly. He kissed both cheeks then put him down to clean up for work. Napoleon called in to headquarters to let them know they were on their way. He grabbed his keys and picked up Illya and headed to the door. He released the locks then turned to the little face in front of him belonging to the child with the uncertain future. 

“I love you. Very much, I always have. I hope you know that.” He wasn’t sure how much English Illya could understand at this point, but he had to say it anyway. He repeated it in Russian.

The child regarded him gravely, then wrapped his arms tightly about Napoleon’s neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Napoleon kissed him back, then exited the apartment.

The ride into headquarters was uneventful. He recognized his escort and spied others that he knew in cars around him along his alternate route. He breathed easier once he and Illya were safely ensconce within the dull grey corridors. He dropped Illya off at Medical to watch him while he showered then checked in with Waverly.

Waverly didn’t remark on Napoleon’s glassy red-rimmed eyes when he greeted him. He gave him an update on the interrogation of the girls April and Mark brought in. They were THRUSH, but the one who knew who was in charge of all this was the one that got away.

“I will be meeting Victor Marton for tea at noon,” he informed his agent. “You will need to stay available should anything untoward occurs.”

“Expecting trouble, sir?”

“This is Victor Marton, I always expect trouble where he is concerned, Mister Solo.”

 


	7. What do you say we take a short drive?

Waverly stepped out of his car near the cafe where he was meeting Victor Marton. The two men had known each other for a very long time and for the past two decades worked for opposing organization. Marton had demonstrated that he could no longer be trusted, so Waverly made sure to take precautions when meeting him. A quick glance around showed him that his people were in place should they be needed.

Marton was already waiting for him at the sidewalk table when he arrived. They smiled a greeting, Waverly taking his seat across from Marton. 

“Alexander, my friend. You are looking well, please, how do you do it?” Marton greeted him. 

“I am well, thank you. I attribute my good health to clean living and keeping busy, thanks to you and your organization,” Waverly responded. “I daresay you have been keeping yourself well.”

“Well, you know, I’ve been keeping busy as well, although not as busy as you have been I imagine.”

Pleasantries out of the way, they ordered their lunch and tea. “So what brings you to New York, Victor? I thought you were in Brussels.”

“Oh I was, I was - thank you my dear,” he interrupted himself as the waitress served their tea, “but there’s nothing like the excitement of New York to get the blood flowing. I was due for some time off, so I thought I would stop in and see my old friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, I hope,” he finished with feigned hurt.

“Of course not,” Waverly replied sipping his tea. “This is a wonderful idea, I’m happy you called. What have you been up to lately?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Marton responded, watching Waverly, who swayed slightly in his seat. “Is everything all right, Alexander? You seem a bit peaked.”

“No. Everything’s fine…” the growing numbness that started from his lips had spread throughout his body. The world was wrapped with a thick layer of gauze, drowning out the sounds of the city and the light of the sun. He froze.

“Of course everything is fine my friend,” Victor smiled, rising. “What do you say we take a short drive? Come,” he removed the cup from Waverly’s hand and set it on the table. He took Waverly’s arm and the man rose and walked numbly at his side towards Marton’s black sedan.

The watching UNCLE agents reacted in alarm, “He’s going with him!” 

A woman stepped out of the sidewalk crowd and blocked their way. Addressing Waverly, “Excuse me sir, I think you dropped something.” 

“You must be mistaken,” Victor answered pleasantly. He nodded his head. The waitress who served them emerged from the restaurant and patted the woman’s arm, injecting her with a fast acting poison. Victor maneuvered Waverly around the women and deposited him into the back seat of the car, climbing in after him. The driver pulled out into traffic and drove away.

UNCLE agents scrambled. The woman watching from the sidewalk had failed to stop them, but did provide enough of a delay to enable the mobilization of the rest of the observers. 

The car took a complicated route through Manhattan, losing some of the tailing vehicles in traffic, then pulled under an underpass, where Waverly was ushered into a second, smaller and faster car that sped off. One of the UNCLE cars ran red lights to keep up and was still on their trail. He came into view just in time to see the transfer so he continued to chase them. He tailed Marton and Waverly for three blocks before he was rammed broadside by a truck driven by a THRUSH operative.   

A few more underpasses, a few more vehicle changes, and Waverly was gone, carried off to their final destination.

 

***

 

Napoleon finished up reviewing the field reports and closed the last file, dropping his pen on the pad of paper with the notes he had taken with followup questions for the agents. He checked his watch and noted it was shortly after noon, Waverly should be at the cafe with Victor Marton now. He left the office and found Lisa Rogers to let her know he would be in Medical if she needed him. She nodded and asked if he needed anything. He responded he just needed his partner back. 

Napoleon walked into a group crowded around an exam table, Doctors Steele and Martin among them, all talking in hushed tones. He hurried over to find a heavy set elderly woman lying on the table. She was dead. Doctor Martin had been feeling around her jawline saying, “… just like we saw with Illya.” 

Alarmed, he asked for Illya. Doctor Martin pointed him to a room.

She followed him, speaking urgently. “Napoleon. Just because Miriam died doesn’t mean we’re going to lose Illya too. She could have died of natural causes when she reverted to her actual physical age, but an autopsy should tell us for sure. Doctor Steele and Section VIII also think they know how to counteract the drug. They’ve just started working on the formula, just hold on, ok?” She squeezed his arm. 

Napoleon entered the private room that held Illya to see a nurse bending over the bed. Illya was flailing his arms, waving off her attempts to draw blood, whining that it hurt. The nurse looked up, “Napoleon. I need to get some blood for Doctor Steele and he’s not cooperating.”

“Give me a minute.” Napoleon gathered up his partner and held him on his back like a baby, making gentle shusshing sounds to calm him. The action calmed himself as well and helped to ward off the rising horror of the thought of losing Illya. “It’s going to be all right, my darling, it’s going to be ok. There, there. I love you tough guy, let the lady take some blood, it won’t hurt, I promise, I’m right here, ssshhhhhh.”

Illya abruptly stopped his whining and knuckled his eyes. He looked about wildly, down at himself in Napoleon’s arms, then back to Napoleon in barely controlled panic. 

“Napoleon!” the child exclaimed with a British inflected Russian accent. “What the hell happened to me?”

 

TO BE CONTINUED...

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my lovely beta readers/editors: 
> 
> aconitum-napellus for her assistance with my grammar, punctuation and spelling and also pointing out unclear passages 
> 
> vintagetvfan for the plot bunnies and catching errors.
> 
> prosiyat for alerting me to the cringe.
> 
> You guys are the best!


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